


Lighthouse

by homoose



Series: Teach Me Something I Don't Know [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose
Summary: Spencer and reader head to her childhood home for thanksgiving. There’s some southern charm, car karaoke, nervous/insecure Spence, corn shuckin’, sibling teasing, reader’s mama being an absolute angel, drunk cards, reader’s dad telling Spencer what’s what, and Spence and COWS 🥺Warnings/Includes: there is one brief moment of implied smut, but other than that, nonea/n: I meant for this to be a cute lil thanksgiving dinner fic and it just SPIRALED. I also meant for Travis to be kind of a redneck caricature and then he ended up being the sweetest lil hick this side of the Mississippi bc I literally just won’t tolerate anyone bullying Spencer in my fics. Also, we learn about one of reader’s fatal flaws and somehow it’s still cute?????? Also also, I got so emotional writing this. Ugh it’s so sweet it’s sickening like gtfoh. Also also also, I highly recommend putting on some country music to get in the ~spirit~ ok enjoy 🥰 (p.s. this is part of the TMSIDK verse but it can stand alone)
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Series: Teach Me Something I Don't Know [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048711
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Lighthouse

“ _Yes_ , mama, I’m putting it in the car right now.” Y/N held the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she packed the crockpot into the backseat, making room for it next to Spencer’s overnight bag. She pulled back out of the car, smacking her head on the door frame and letting out a curse. She sighed and rubbed her head. “Oh for goodness sake, I’m a grown woman. I say worse things than ‘shit.’”

She closed the car door and turned to see Spencer balancing on the curb, hands in his pockets and a small smile turning up his lips. She rolled her eyes and made a circular motion with her hand, trying to subliminally speed up the conversation.

“All right. All right. Yes, mama. He’s right here. No, you _cannot_ talk to him right now.” Spencer rocked up on his toes, relishing the way North Carolina melted into her voice. “Because then we’ll be late, and we’ll never hear the end of it. I’m hanging up now. I love you. Goodbyyyyye,” she sang, pulling the phone away from her ear and pressing the end call button. She looked exasperatedly at Spencer. “If she tries to convince us to stay an extra day, please say you have a case.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Did you happen to bring my skincare bag down with you?”

“I put it in the tote bag with your hair dryer,” he confirmed.

She smiled gratefully. “Of course you did. Have I told you yet today that I love you?”

He stepped down off the curb, crowding in and placing his hands on her hips. “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Well, then, I” —kiss— “love” —kiss— “you.” She let her last kiss linger, and Spencer brought his hands up to her face, smiling against her mouth and then drawing her bottom lip into his own. She let herself enjoy it for a moment before humming and tapping her hands where they’d come to rest on his chest. “Mm, we really do have to get going,” she mumbled against his mouth, pulling away. She pushed a finger into his chest. “I’m not kidding when I say we’ll face her wrath if we’re late.”

With that, she slipped around him and rounded the hood of the car, opening the driver’s side door and climbing behind the wheel. Spencer took his place in the passenger seat, a spot he’d become well acquainted with over the past eight months and nineteen days. As Y/N checked the rear view mirror and pulled away from the curb, Spencer reached into the backseat to retrieve his book, aiming to read as much as he could in the first twenty minutes of the drive. Once they were on the highway, he knew he’d be sucked into Y/N’s car karaoke session.

Sure enough, when they pulled onto the entrance ramp of I-95, Y/N’s most recent playlist was filtering through the speakers. She had it turned down low, humming quietly and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. He read for four tracks, until the rhythmic drum beats of one of her favorite songs began their ascent into the open space of the car.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as her tapping became more frenzied, smiling to himself as he closed his book. She glanced at him briefly, and he reached over to turn up the volume several notches— much louder than he would set himself. She grinned at him. “Again, you’re the best, I love you, I promise not to burst your eardrums.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

As always, it didn’t take long for Spencer to be belting out the songs right along with her. He’d never been one for singing, too self-conscious about his pitch problems to really enjoy it. But Y/N was _always_ singing. Whether it was humming along to the classical vinyls he was partial to, belting over the vacuum cleaner, serenading the shower walls with her most current playlist, or battling the ear worms of the Koo Koo Kangaroo songs her students loved— there were very few moments in which Y/N _wasn’t_ singing.

She was never embarrassed when she caught him staring, or when her voice cracked on a particularly high note, or when she belted out gibberish when she forgot the words. Her carefree nature had influenced him in a lot of ways, and this was one of his favorites. Scream-singing in the car (or shower, or kitchen) had become sort of _their thing_ … and he found that he really, really loved having a thing with Y/N.

They drove 200 miles before they stopped for gas. Y/N would have gone a few more, but Spencer had been nervously eyeing the gas gauge for about a dozen miles, and she graciously put him out of his misery. Y/N pulled up to one of the empty pump stations, turning the car off but leaving the key in the ignition. Spencer hoisted himself out of the car and eyed the pump warily, germophobia rocketing into overdrive.

“I got it.” Y/N ran a hand down his arm, giving him a soft smile. She nodded her head toward the attached convenience store. “Can you get me a Dr. Pepper?”

He kissed her forehead and gave her a grateful smile. “One Dr. Pepper, coming right up.” He scooted around her to head toward the doors, hands grazing her waist.

“Oh, and a bag of those brown bread chip things!” He laughed and flashed her a thumbs up.

As he pushed open the door of the store, his eyes immediately fell on the sign for the restrooms. There were few things that Spencer hated more than using a rest stop toilet, but he also didn’t want his first words to Y/N’s family to be “where’s the bathroom.” And if he waited the remaining hour and a half they had left on the trip, that was exactly what was going to happen.

He did his business quickly, scrubbing his hands twice under the lukewarm water. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and sighed. He looked terrible— eye bags dark and prominent, hair in desperate need of a cut. He ran his damp hands through it to try to tame some of the wilder parts, feeling the flutter of the nerves he’d been able to stave off during car karaoke.

He quickly purchased the sodas and rye chips (and a pack of mini donuts for himself), pushing the door open with his shoulder and heading back out across the parking lot. As he squinted against the Carolina sun, he watched Y/N as she worked through a series of full body stretches against the side of the car.

“Do you want me to drive?”

She dropped her arms and turned to face him as he closed the last few feet between them. “Nope, I’m good.” She took the soda and rye chips from his outstretched hands, eyes moving to trace over his face. He watched as her brow knit together, and he knew she’d clocked his anxiety. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just— you know, rest stop bathrooms.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head, considering him a moment longer, but ultimately deciding to let it go. “Ready to keep going?”

He nodded in the affirmative, and they both got back into the car. Spencer broke open the Coke he’d gotten for himself, and Y/N pulled out of the parking lot and navigated them back to the highway. She turned the music to a softer, calmer set of songs.

When they were back on the highway, Spencer pulled his book back out, flipping open to where he’d left off. The car was quiet other than the low thrum of the music. What should have been an ideal setting for reading turned out to be the perfect conditions for the embers of Spencer’s insecurities to fan into full blown flames. He closed the book and watched as green and golden fields flew by, the wind creating endless waves in the knee-high grain.

The [hand-picking of a sweet guitar melody](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DcDRx4U4wG2Y&t=ZWZmODUxOTg1OWYyYzZkNjA1NzgzOTc4MzUzNDU5N2U3NTdlZGNkZiwzOEljRDVvMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Ay7fLx4GMLfydPRTa3SOKWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhomoose.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F635821684162789377%2Flighthouse&m=1&ts=1607496248) drifted through the speakers, and Y/N resumed her quiet humming. Her hand moved across the center console to cover his own. He turned his hand palm up and laced their fingers together as she started to sing, softly but so clearly for him that his heart physically ached.

_I’ve got you right here_

_Baby you got me_

_We got love together_

_And that is what we really need_

She rubbed her thumb along his for the remainder of the song, and, as he’d become accustomed to since being with her, Spencer marveled at how much she could make him feel with such a small, simple movement. When the final notes of the song faded out, he brought their joined hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss there, desperately trying to show her even half of the love she gave him.

When they passed the highway sign that indicated they were fifty miles from Fayetteville, Y/N turned the radio down. “So, I should give you the rundown on the cast of characters. Firstly and most importantly, my mom is the queen bee, Mama Rosie. Tell her she’s pretty and that you love her cooking, and she’ll be on your side forever.” Spencer turned in his seat and leaned his head against the headrest.

“My dad is Hank. You will absolutely be asked to take a walk over to the shop, and there’s nothing I can really do to help you out of that,” she informed him with an empathetic grimace. “But what you need to remember about Hank is that he’s really a big ol’ softie, no matter how gruff he might come off. The shop talk is just his way of making sure you’re a good egg.” She patted his leg sympathetically at his slightly panicked look.

“My sister Jenny married Travis. His _entire_ personality is hunting and fishing, but he’s a good guy. They’ll spend a fair amount of time bickering.” She rolled her eyes and then gestured with her hand. “They own an outdoor store in Lillington. Jenny’s pregnant but no one knows yet so, keep it on the DL,” she warned.

“Now, my brother Lee married his high school sweetheart Bailey, and they are the definition of sweet. Lee works in IT, and Bailey’s a nurse. They’re the best; you’ll love them.” She checked the rear view to change lanes and pass a slower moving vehicle. “They live in Raleigh and they’re _always_ late, so that’ll be a whole thing around 1:30. Best to make yourself scarce if at all possible.”

She took his hand again, gently squeezing as she moved back over into the right lane. “My parents don’t have favorites, but I’m their favorite.” Despite himself, Spencer laughed. “Oh, and mama’s definitely going to hug you, sorry in advance.”

She reached up to switch the source to FM, scanning to find a clear channel. The swell of a violin came through the speakers— well, more accurately a fiddle— and Y/N laughed and dialed up her North Carolina cadence. “And lastly, a little country music to get you in the right mindset.”

He allowed himself to get lost in the way her whole body moved as she crooned out the lyrics to song after song about trucks, broken hearts, beer, and God. He wasn’t even sure if he believed in God, but being next to her was the closest he’d ever felt to it. He didn’t realize they’d even left the highway until the tires crunched over the change in surface.

Dust swirled around the vehicle as Y/N navigated them over the dirt road, miles and [miles of green and gold](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D2HMqRXBuFfs&t=NDEwMDE1ZTJkMGQyYTg4MTc1YTIzMmYyNDQ1Mjg4N2I0MWE2ODI3YiwzOEljRDVvMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Ay7fLx4GMLfydPRTa3SOKWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhomoose.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F635821684162789377%2Flighthouse&m=1&ts=1607496248) on either side. They passed several trucks, looming over her tiny compact car, and she raised her fingers off the steering wheel in greeting each time. He briefly wondered if she knew the drivers, but the thought died when she pulled into the gravel driveway.

The house was modest, but well cared for. White siding and blue shutters, a huge tree in the front yard with a tire swing swaying slightly in the breeze. There were two trucks parked in the driveway, and Y/N pulled off onto the grass. She put the car in park, shut it off, and smiled at him before pushing the door open.

He sat frozen for a moment before following her. She was leaning over, grabbing the crockpot out of the backseat. She straightened up, eyes landing on his face. She set the pot on the roof of the car and came around to stand in front of him.

“Hey. _Hey._ ” She grabbed his fidgeting hands. “You’re doing that thing.”

Spencer scrunched his face. “What thing?”

“That thing where you talk down to yourself in your head,” she said, knowingly. “Stop.”

“I—” He took a breath before it all came spilling out. “I’ve never hunted a day in my life. I— _hate_ beer. I’m sort of allergic to hay? I don’t understand the appeal of watching NASCAR— at all. I know a lot about the mechanics of a tractor engine, but I think I’d probably pass out if your dad asked me to drive one. I—”

“Spencer.” Her eyes glinted with humor, but she suppressed her smile, knowing that wouldn’t be helpful. “Lee hates hunting, too. We’re more of a whiskey family, and NASCAR’s never really been our thing,” she shrugged. “And guess who has a severe hay allergy? My mom literally makes my dad strip naked in the mud room if he’s been in the field.”

“But—”

“And the price tag on my dad’s tractor is close to fifty grand, so _nobody_ gets to drive it,” she finished. Her eyes softened, and she squeezed his sweaty hands. “They’re gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that,” he huffed.

“Mmmm, yeah I do,” she said, scrunching her nose. “I love you, and I have impeccable taste.” When he didn’t budge, she continued, “They’re simple people. They believe in hard work, decency, and cooking literally _everything_ in butter or grease.” His lips twitched, and she kept going. “You’re brilliant, kind, and so, _so_ good to me. That’s all they want, Spence.” She lifted her hand and stroked over his cheek. “Just— show them that, and you’re golden.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes to press her smiling mouth against his. He returned her kiss, still nervous but so grateful for her belief in him. She pulled back and patted his chest.

“All right. Now, come on, before mama has an aneurysm about this damn crockpot.” She retrieved said appliance from the roof of the car, cradling it under one arm and lacing the fingers of her free hand through his own.

He steeled himself as they ascended the porch, stairs creaking under their feet. Y/N hooked the toe of her boot into the bottom of the screen door, swinging it open and stepping over the threshold. Spencer followed her and then took a second to take in the space.

The foyer opened up into a large living room, filled with worn, well-loved furniture. The decor was what Spencer knew to be farmhouse chic. There was a wooden stairway right off the main room, photos covering almost every inch of wall space. The profiler in him clocked the photos on the entryway wall— Y/N smiling in the 8x10 in the center, and beaming out from more than a few of the smaller photos. She was the favorite after all.

“Mama?” Y/N kicked off her shoes and Spencer did the same. He followed her down the hallway, emerging into a bright kitchen. Y/N set the crockpot on the table in the breakfast nook, and Spencer watched as a small, round woman popped up from behind the massive island.

“Oh, my baby!” She scurried around the island to wrap Y/N up in a hug, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. She pulled back and held Y/N’s hands out from her body. “Let me get a look at you. Ooh sweetheart, I love this blouse! You know, I saw one just like it over at the DressBarn the other day. Maybe I should go back for it— we could match!”

“Mmmm yeah, that’d be great. Everyone loves matching their mom,” Y/N joked, earning her a light smack on the arm. She pivoted to Spencer, holding her hand out to him. “Mama, this is Spencer. Spencer, my mom, Rose.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said, giving a wave.

“Oh absolutely not, none of that. It’s Rose, Rosie, or mama,” she told him, pulling him into a tight squeeze. He tentatively placed his hands on her back. Y/N mouthed a sheepish _sorry._ But something about the smell of the kitchen and the feel of Rose’s soft sweater set him at ease, and he felt his body relax against her.

Rose pulled back out of the hug and stepped back, considering him. “I can see why you ain’t been calling me back, lately, sweetie.”

“ _Mama_!” Y/N laughed at Spencer’s flush. “I mean— you’re not wrong, but let’s not scare him away so quick.”

“We are just so excited to finally meet you,” Rose gushed, clapping her hands together. “Y/N’s told us so much about you. A doctor— the teaching kind— and _three_ of ‘em, well I’ll be. And an FBI agent, too. I just never heard of anything like it.”

The flames of Spencer’s insecurity licked up the walls of his chest, burning hot as he waited for her to mention his peculiarity. Before he could say anything, she continued, “I never imagined having someone so accomplished in this lil ol’ house.” She glanced at Y/N. “Not that I’m not proud of you kids, too. I just hope we aren’t too simple for your tastes, Spencer.”

“I— well,” Spencer started, taken aback by the knowledge that Rose might be just as anxious as him. “Thank you, that’s— that’s very kind. You—you raised an incredible daughter. Nothing simple about that.”

Rose’s face lit up at his words. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing. Keep talking like that, and I’ll be booking y’all a date at the courthouse.”

Y/N blushed, but Spencer smiled at Rose. “What can we do to help?”

“Oh, I’m all right here, darlin’,” she assured him with a smile. She turned to Y/N. “But if y’all could drive over to the field on Marsh Road and pick up your daddy. He’s just finishing up combining the last of the corn.”

“You got it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Keys in the truck?”

“Always!”

…

Spencer tapped his fingers beside him on the bench seat of the rusted Ford, Y/N grinning at him from the driver’s side. “So, what’d you think of Mama Rosie?”

“She’s amazing,” he said honestly. He loved his own mother, and he treasured their relationship more than almost any other in his life. But he found himself enamored by Rose’s easy affection, the phantom feel of her hug still around him, her floral perfume clinging to his sweater.

“Told you they’d love you.” She pulled over to the side of the road as a cloud of dust rolled off the [combine](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.deere.com%2Fassets%2Fimages%2Fregion-4%2Fproducts%2Fcombines%2Ft670%2Ft670_r2c001198_tech_rrd_ml_2_large_6c51fa68662b21435dd2137ac5878bf7a677911d.jpg&t=MjZlOGNjNzg0NjM2NmFmZDVhNTFmYzY4OTJmYjEwZjI3ZjYxZGVhNywzOEljRDVvMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Ay7fLx4GMLfydPRTa3SOKWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhomoose.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F635821684162789377%2Flighthouse&m=1&ts=1607496248) and across the field like a tsunami. She turned the truck off and hauled herself out of the vehicle. Spencer watched her come around the hood, making a face at him through the window. He opened the door and she stepped forward. “Ready to meet Hank?”

“Not really,” he confessed.

She laughed and leaned up to press a kiss to his nose. “Like I said, Rosie’s the queen bee. You already won her over, so he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

He watched as the huge machine rolled to a stop a hundred yards away from them, dust billowing across the open field. The roaring engine went quiet, and Spencer could see the vague outline of a man in the cab.

Y/N turned and shielded her eyes with her hand. She patted Spencer’s knee. “Wait here.” With that, she crossed the ditch, crunching across the dry ground toward the combine. The door of the cab opened up, and Spencer watched Hank climb down the ladder.

Even from across the field, Spencer could tell that Hank was a mountain of a man. He towered over Y/N, pulling her into a tight hug as soon as they met in the middle of the field. He was at least a foot and a half taller than her, and when they turned back toward the truck, Spencer hurried to get down out of the cab. They slowly closed the distance between themselves and the truck, and Spencer felt a bead of sweat drop down the back of his neck.

After what felt like an eternity, Hank helped Y/N back across the ditch and wiped his hands on his pants. She gestured between them. “Spencer, this is my dad, Hank. Dad, Spencer.”

Hank raised his hand in greeting, and Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I’d shake, but I’m full of dust,” he said. He turned to Y/N, pulling a face. “Shouldn’t have even hugged you. Your mama’s gonna have a fit about your shirt.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’ll put it in the wash, it’ll be good as new.”

“She on it already?” Hank asked.

“You know it. She hit on Spencer almost immediately,” she chuckled, grinning at the pair of them.

“That sounds like Rosie.” He looked at Spencer, all corn dust and watchful eyes and bushy brows. “You get used to it.”

“She’s wonderful.” Spencer shifted his weight. “It’s really nice to finally meet you both. Y/N talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” Spencer assured him.

A siren of a ringtone sounded, and Spencer about jumped out of skin. Hank pulled an ancient cell phone out of his pocket, swiping the dust off the tiny screen and holding it away from him to read the name on the caller ID. He punched the button to answer, “Yes, dear? Naw, I’ma have to come back out here tomorrow.”

Spencer could hear Rose’s voice come bellowing through the phone. “All right, woman, now don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ll be in for supper.” He held the phone away from his ear. “I know what I said, but I can’t change the speed of the combine, Rosie.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “All right, _all right_. I’ll look at the weather when I get back and see what Saturday’s looking like.”

Hank motioned Spencer and Y/N towards the truck, walking around to get in the driver’s seat.

“They don’t argue about much,” Y/N murmured. “But working on holidays is a sore spot for mama.” Y/N climbed into the truck first, sliding over to the middle of the bench seat. Spencer hopped up next to her and shut the door.

Hank slammed his own door shut and turned the key in the ignition. “Love you, too.” He hung up the phone and dropped it into the dusty cup holder.

Y/N laughed, lightening the mood. “I cannot believe you still use that old thing.”

“Hey, I can make calls, take calls, and hear the dang ringer,” Hank defended. “That’s all I need.”

“You and Spence will get along just fine,” she deduced.

“I take it you got a dinosaur phone, too?” Hank inferred.

“I happen to agree that phones function to make and take calls,” Spencer remarked. “So yes, I’ve been teased for my dinosaur phone more than once.”

“It’s just a bummer that I can’t send you guys gifs,” Y/N sighed dramatically.

“What in the hell is a gif?” Hank questioned.

“It stands for ‘graphics interchange format’ and it’s a moving bitmap image format that was created in June 1987 by American software writer Steve Wilhite by compressing an image using the Lempel-Ziv-Welch lossless data compression technique to reduce file size without degrading the image quality,” Spencer explained.

The truck was quiet for a long moment, and Spencer cursed internally. Then Hank turned his head slightly and remarked, “You’re gonna have to dumb that down a little, son.”

Y/N threw her head back and cackled. Spencer smiled tentatively despite himself and gestured with his hands. “It’s essentially a— a series of images that loop continuously to create a short, soundless video that repeats itself.”

Hank looked at him gratefully before shaking his head. “So, not something I’m gonna get a newfangled phone for. You can send ‘em to your mama.”

…

They spent the rest of the afternoon being directed around the kitchen. Hank headed out to the barn to finish up his chores. Jenny and Travis were there when they got back, arguing about gas prices.

“I’m just saying, if we’d stopped before we left Lillington, we wouldn’t have spent almost $3.00 a gallon,” Jenny argued.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” Travis supplied, adjusting the brim of his ball cap and trying to end the conversation.

“Except I can pull up the prices on—”

“ _Okay_ , mama what do you need us to do?” Y/N asked, putting an end to it herself.

“I need you to dress the salad. Jenny, the mash,” she directed from her spot over the stove. “Boys, can you shuck the corn on the back porch? Hank’s gonna grill it when he’s done watering the chickens.”

“You got it, ma.” Travis gave her a salute. “Come on, doc.”

“Oh, Spencer, honey, put this on or you’ll ruin that gorgeous sweater.” Rose tossed him an apron, _Queen_ 👑 _of the Kitchen_ embroidered across the chest.

“What, no apron for me?” Travis teased, gesturing at his worn camouflage sweatshirt. Rose swatted him and he put his hands up in surrender, turning for the sliding glass door.

Spencer followed him, slipping the apron over his head. A white plastic bucket sat between two of the chairs at the table on the end of the porch. Travis turned the bucket upside down, dumping the ears of corn out onto the table and flopping down into one of the chairs.

Spencer stood awkwardly for a moment, hands toying with the ties of the apron.

“I don’t bite,” Travis told him.

“Oh— I didn’t— I don’t,” Spencer started.

“Relax, doc,” Travis chuckled. “Have a seat.”

Spencer sat, picking up a piece of corn. “I—I don’t really know how to shuck corn.”

“Oh, well it’s easy. It’s just like peelin’ an onion.” He found the outermost layer of husk with his fingers. “Just start at the top and pull the whole thing down.” He modeled what he meant, and Spencer copied his movements. “There y’are. Okay, now you just keep doin’ that ‘til the husk is gone.”

They peeled back each layer silently until it was just the cob. “Rosie’s real finicky ‘bout the silk, so you gotta use the brush.” He shuffled his hand around the corn on the table, coming up with a small nail brush. “And you just brush ‘til most of the silks are gone.” He demonstrated again, handing the brush to Spencer when he was finished.

They shucked quietly for a few minutes. Spencer knew he should say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except: “Did you know the average ear of corn has eight hundred kernels? They’re arranged in sixteen rows, so about fifty kernels per row. And more than ninety million acres of land are dedicated to growing corn.”

Travis paused, and Spencer waited for the inevitable _it’s-weird-that-you-know-that_ comment. “No, I didn’t know that. Shit, and I thought Hank’s four hundred acres was a lot.” Travis placed his fifth finished ear of corn into the bowl on the table with a furrowed brow. “So, you’re a doctor?”

Spencer cleared his throat as Travis grabbed another ear. “Yeah. Um, they’re PhDs though, not an M.D.”

“That’s cool, man.” Travis was a fast shucker. “So, what d’you do with a PhD?”

“Um— well, you can do a lot of things. Depends on what you get your PhD in. I teach, but I also use my skill set to study and catch criminals.”

“Seriously?” Travis paused in his shucking.

“Yeah, that’s my main job,” Spencer confirmed. “The teaching is part time.”

Travis resumed pulling the husk off his ear of corn. “When you say criminals…”

“Mostly, um, serial killers,” Spencer admitted.

“No shit.” Travis cocked his head. “What’s the craziest thing you ever seen?”

Spencer hesitated as memories flashed through his mind. “Honestly? I’m not shocked by anything anymore.” Spencer stared at his hands moving over the corn.

Travis went quiet for a moment. “Sorry, brother. Forget I asked,” Travis said sheepishly, sensing Spencer’s discomfort.

“No, no, it’s—it’s okay.” Spencer waved his hand. “I just— I’ve seen so many things, it’s hard to even choose.”

“I ‘on’t know how you do it,” Travis remarked. “I can’t even watch those true crime shows Jenny loves. Creeps me out. I’ll stick to selling hikin’ boots and fishin’ poles.”

Spencer laughed. “I don’t blame you.” He put his finished corn in the bowl and grabbed another. “I think about leaving my job sometimes. I don’t know.” He shrugged and drew his brows together. “I’ve been there so long, I’m not sure what my life would even look like without it.”

Travis began brushing the silks from his corn, contemplating. “I’m sure you already know, but Y/N’s great to talk to ‘bout that sorta thing. Well, ‘bout anything I reckon,” he amended. “She’s the one who convinced me and Jenny to take the leap with the store. Everybody said we were crazy. Who’s gonna shop at a mom and pop store ain’t nobody heard of when they got Bass Pro Shops?” Travis grinned. “Y/N always gave ‘em the what for. Said that— good people support good people, and that Jenny and me were good people. We’re comin’ up on ten years in business.”

“Congratulations,” Spencer smiled.

Travis nodded. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is, if you need someone who can,” he paused and gestured with his corn, “help you imagine somethin’ different— Y/N’s a good one.”

Spencer couldn’t believe he’d been intimidated by this man just twenty minutes earlier. “She really is a good one, isn’t she?” Travis gave him a knowing look. Spencer dropped his corn into the bucket and realized that the rest of the ears were done. “I feel like you did a lot more work than I did.”

“How much money’d you spend on those PhDs?” Travis asked, grinning and adjusting his cap. “‘Cause I coulda told you that for free.”

…

At 1:30 on the dot, the door opened and Lee and Bailey piled in over the threshold.

Y/N grabbed Spencer’s hand as the voices steadily grew louder in the living room and nodded her head toward the sliding glass door. He pulled the apron over his head and followed her.

She padded across the porch and flopped onto the porch swing, patting the space next to her. He sat and she curled her legs up, tucking herself under his arm. “We’ll just give it a few minutes to die down.” 

The swing rocked back and forth as his fingers ran up and down her arm. The afternoon sun streamed over the porch, warming their skin against the chilly November air. Spencer pressed his nose into hair, breathing in her shampoo and the scent just beneath it that was purely her.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek into the soft fabric of his cardigan. They were both content to sit quietly, swinging and breathing and just being together in a world away from DC.

The screen door slid open, and Lee popped his head out the door. “Thanks for the support in there,” he joked.

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Y/N scolded. “I live the farthest away, and I was here first.”

“And _that’s_ why you’re the favorite,” he teased, stepping out into the porch. “I’m Lee, by the way.”

Spencer raised his hand in greeting. “Spencer.”

Bailey peeked around the doorframe, before jogging out onto the porch. “EEEEEEE my favorite DC gal!!!!”

Y/N detangled from Spencer and stood, just in time to absorb the hurricane of a hug. Lee rolled his eyes and grinned at Spencer.

Bailey released Y/N from the hug and turned to Spencer. “And of course, I _know_ this handsome man just _has_ to be Dr. Spencer Reid.” She held her hands up in a placating motion. “I heard you have a thing about hugs. But just know that I am telepathically hugging you _so hard_ right now.”

Y/N grinned and stepped around them to hug Lee. Bailey gave Spencer a once over before asking, “So, how’s life with our girl?”

“It’s pretty great,” Spencer admitted. “She’s one of a kind.”

“That she is.” Bailey put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “An angel and a half. I’ve known her for over twenty years, and I’ve yet to meet anyone like her.”

Lee slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “Ey— let’s go before mama decides to disown me. I need one last helping of stuffing before that happens.”

The eight of them piled into the dining room, the table set with the good china and overflowing with food. Spencer was overwhelmed just looking at it. He had never thought much about Thanksgiving; he preferred Halloween and didn’t have many memories of the holidays otherwise. For the most part, it had just been him and Diana, which he didn’t mind. And of course, he had the BAU dinners at Rossi’s. But the stereotypical big family dinner was something he just… didn’t have a lot of experience with.

Rose said grace, murmuring her thanks for the crops, the weather, and for the people around her— adding a special thanks for _Spencer, the sweetest doctor either side of the Mississippi_. Hank carved possibly the biggest turkey Spencer had ever seen. And then they ate… and ate… and ate.

Spencer had truly never eaten so much in his life. When he finally cleared his last helping, he turned to Rose. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the most incredible meal I’ve ever had.”

There was a chorus of groans from around the table, but Rose was beaming at him.

“There goes any chance we had of becoming the favorites this year,” Lee joked, nudging Bailey’s shoulder.

“I don’t have favorites,” Rose said, not taking her eyes off Spencer. “But thank you so much, sugar. You’re just sweet as pie.”

Spencer listened to their teasing banter, smiling as he sipped the fresh coffee Hank had brewed. His cheeks were warm from two glasses of wine, his belly full of home cooking, and his mind on Travis’ back porch wisdom. Y/N’s head fell back in a maniacal cackle at something Lee said, and Spencer had never been more in love.

She turned and caught his gaze, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling with her grin. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she teased.

“Can’t a guy just look at the person he loves?”

“ _Gross_ , get a room,” Jenny laughed.

Spencer startled at her voice, and the whole table busted up. “I thought I was talking quiet.”

Y/N ran a hand over his hair, chuckling. “Oh, _honey_. That wine really got you good, huh?” She moved her eyes over his face and he hummed. “Wanna take a nap?”

“A nap sounds like a good plan,” Lee agreed, stretching his arms up and fighting a yawn.

“Oh, don’t you wish.” Rose scolded, “The punishment for being late is dishes. Spencer can nap. _You_ better make sure every last fork is sparkling.”

“See, he’s _already_ the favorite,” Lee sighed, but there was a grin on his face.

Y/N pulled Spencer up from the table. “We need to unpack the rest of the car anyway.” She threaded their fingers together and led Spencer out of the dining room and up the stairs.

“D’you wanna unpack the car?” he mumbled.

“Nap first, lightweight,” she laughed.

“Hey, that’s just— that’s what happens when you don’t drink alcohol often.” He could have told her more about the science behind tolerance, but he was so sleepy.

“I know, sweetie,” she murmured, pushing open one of the doors in the hallway.

The room was painted a light blue, the bed covered with a blue patterned quilt and throw pillows. Spencer immediately flopped onto the bed, rolling to his side and making grabby hands at her. She stifled a laugh and climbed onto the bed with him.

“Feeling good?” She grinned at his heavy eyelids and laid back against the throw pillows, lifting her arm to tuck him underneath.

“Mmmmm, feelin’ best.” He wrapped his arm around her middle and snuggled into her side, head on her chest. After twelve hours of near constant low grade anxiety, his body finally relaxed as he breathed her in. “Did you know I wanted to be a cowboy? Like, in another life. With horses and cows and a hundred acres.”

Y/N smiled into his hair. “No, I didn’t know that. We don’t have horses, but we can go see the cows tomorrow if you want.”

He lifted his head, eyes full of wonder. “You have cows?”

“Yeah, baby,” she laughed. “We have lots of cows. I coulda sworn I told you that.”

He shook his head, eyes wide. “I’d’ve remembered if you told me that. I _love_ cows.” His brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. “Well— I love the idea of cows, I guess? I haven’t actually met one.”

“Well, we are gonna fix that. Spencer Reid is gonna meet a cow.”

“Can we, um— can we pet them?” He stroked his hand over her belly as if to demonstrate.

She smiled and nodded. “We sure can.”

He pressed his mouth to hers and she laughed against him. “I love it here, ‘n’ I love you,” he murmured, laying his head back on her chest.

She snuggled him close and tangled her hand in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “I love you, too, Spencer Reid.”

…

When Spencer woke, it was purely for the fact that he was so unbearably hot. His waking brain registered that he was fully clothed and so tangled up with Y/N that he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Her hand was still woven into his hair, although it hadn’t moved in quite a while. Her breathing was slow and even, and the absolute last thing he wanted to do was leave this spot.

But he was so, so _hot_.

He began carefully detangling his limbs from Y/N’s sleeping form, eventually rolling over and sitting up on the bed, feeling the strange disorientation that comes with napping in an unfamiliar space. The bed shifted as he moved, and Y/N’s eyes fluttered open.

She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Hi.” She pulled at her sweater. “Jesus, it’s hot.”

Spencer nodded, unbuttoning his own cardigan. “Yeah. I didn’t want to move, but I was overheating.”

“Damn wood burning furnace,” she muttered, pulling the sweater over her head. “There’s no thermostat in this house. It’s either one _thousand_ degrees or the literal tip of Antarctica.” She put her hands over her red cheeks. “What time is it?”

Spencer checked his watch. “6:55.”

She hummed. “This is going to sound terrible, but I’m hungry.”

“Not terrible. I agree,” Spencer shrugged his cardigan off his shoulders.

She rolled off the bed, and began stripping out of the rest of her clothes. “Let’s change and go eat some leftovers.”

They switched into their pajamas and headed downstairs, the sound of laughter and country music drifting out of the living room. The whole crew was sprawled out over the living room furniture, pajamas on and empty paper plates and napkins cast aside.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauties,” Lee grinned.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Some of us drove 300 miles today. We’d have slept longer, but it’s hotter than hell in this house.”

“Enjoy it now ‘cause y’know you’re gonna be freezin’ your ass off when the fire goes out ‘round 2:00am,” Travis remarked.

Y/N looked at Spencer with raised eyebrows. “Told ya. Hell or the Arctic. No in between.” She turned and started toward the kitchen. “Don’t know how it’s possible to be hungry, but I am.”

Spencer followed her, and watched as she opened the fridge and began pulling out various containers. “Can you get the loaf of bread?” she asked. “It’s in that box by the microwave.” Spencer did as she asked and brought the bread over to the island.

“Hey mama, got any Miracle Whip?” she called, head in the fridge.

“Of course, baby,” Rose called back. “Bottom shelf on the door.”

Y/N made a noise of content and pulled the jar out, closing the fridge and setting the jar next to the Mayo she’d taken out. She gestured at the spread. “Okay, the only acceptable way to eat Thanksgiving leftovers on the day of is in sandwich form. Then it doesn’t count as a second dinner— it’s just a snack,” she explained.

Spencer laughed. “I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

“Hush,” she smiled, untwisting the tie on the bread bag.

They assembled their sandwiches on paper plates and carried them out into the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table.

“How’s the Miracle Whip?” Jenny asked, smirking.

“Don’t start,” Y/N warned.

Lee laughed. “I take it the good doctor doesn’t know you spent an entire year eating _exclusively_ Miracle Whip sandwiches.”

“With the crusts cut off,” Rose added, arms folded and eyebrows raised. “God forbid I left a sliver of crust.”

Y/N’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and Spencer grinned at her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Nothing wrong with being a picky eater,” Hank said, defending her. He looked at his three children.“You all were at one point.”

“Yeah but only the baby got away with it,” Lee clarified. “Jenny and I always had to clean our plates.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re the favorite,” Y/N said.

“We don’t have favorites,” Rose and Hank chorused.

The group devolved into laughter and Spencer smiled around a bite of sandwich.

“So, Spencer, did we steal you away from your family this Thanksgiving?” Jenny asked.

He set down his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the paper towel. “Nope. It’s just me and my mom, and she and I got together last week.”

“Sugar, I hope you know she’s welcome, too,” Rose told him. “We’ve got an extra guest room now the addition’s finished.”

He smiled politely at her, as Y/N placed a comforting hand on his knee. “I know she’d appreciate that. I— I appreciate that. She’s um,” he paused and looked to Y/N. She squeezed his knee and he continued. “She’s in a full-time care facility. Early onset Alzheimer’s and um, schizophrenia.”

The room went quiet and Rose’s eyes immediately shone with tears. “Oh, sweetheart.” She sighed. “My mama, God rest her soul, she had Alzheimer’s. It’s a—” She took a breath and Hank reached for her hand. She took it and looked at him gratefully. “It’s a painful thing, watching someone you love so much lose pieces of themselves, and knowing there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Spencer covered Y/N’s hand on his knee, his own eyes burning unexpectedly. Rose continued, “Nothing in my life has hurt as much as grieving the death of all those pieces when she was still so physically alive.” She swiped her free hand under her eyes. “It’s one of those things where nothing anyone can say will make it feel any better.” She glanced at Y/N, hesitation in her eyes. “Y/N reminded me earlier that you aren’t normally a hugger, and I’m sorry if I made you— uncomfortable earlier.”

Spencer opened his mouth and closed it, afraid he’d cry if he tried to speak. Instead, he shook his head and waved his hand. Rose continued, “Would it be all right if I gave you a hug now, Spencer?”

He was on his feet almost before she got the question out. She stood and pulled him in close, murmuring quietly and rubbing his back. He was vaguely aware of the shuffle of the others out of the living room, graciously giving them space.

He hadn’t cried about his mom in a long time, but the combination of Rose’s maternal nature and her ability to empathize with his situation were enough to push him over the edge. He rested his chin on her shoulder and tried to match his breaths to the slow rhythm of her hand on his spine.

After a long while, she squeezed him extra tight and then pulled back, grabbing his hands. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about it right now.” He squeezed her hands and shook his head. “But I’ll give you my cell, and you just— feel free to call me whenever. I’m no doctor, but I guess you don’t need a degree to know about grief.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re so very welcome, sugar.” She pulled him toward the kitchen. “You know what else helps me feel better? Pie.”

…

Hank headed to bed early with a kiss on Rose’s cheek, tired in the way only farmers can be. The rest of them ended up around the dining room table, drinking and watching Lee deal from a deck of worn playing cards.

“Okay, so Five Card Mao— the only rule is you can’t talk about the rules,” Lee explained.

“What’s this, fight club?” Travis asked, taking a slug of his beer.

Lee rolled his eyes. “The only thing I can tell you is that, as the dealer, I’m the Grand Master, so I have ultimate veto power. If you think somebody broke a rule, you can give them a card from the deck. But if you’re wrong, you take that card _and_ another from the deck.”

“But there’s no rules,” Jenny said, slightly slurred.

“I said you can’t _talk_ about the rules, not that there’s no rules, ya lush.” He raised his finger. “Oh, actually, you can’t talk at all. Unless you call a point of order. Then everybody’s gotta lay their cards down until the point of order’s called off.”

“Mama’s gonna have a full deck,” Y/N laughed.

“Hush your mouth, little girl.” Rose was sufficiently wine drunk, and she scoffed at Y/N’s smirk.

“The goal is to get rid of all your cards,” Lee continued. “When you’ve got one card left, you say ‘mao.’ If you talk, you get a card.”

“This doesn’t seem fair.” Y/N looked at Lee over her cards. “You’re the only one who knows the rules. How are we supposed to win if we don’t know the rules?”

“Well, maybe if you came and visited me more often you’d know the rules,” Lee scolded. “And you just gotta pay attention so you can figure ‘em out as we go. That’s part of the fun. All right.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Let the first inaugural game of Five Card Mao at Y/L/N Farms commence.”

Spencer watched carefully, quickly deducing the rules of the game but also enjoying the endless teasing. He kept an eye on Y/N, knowing her devolution was only a few turns away. The first time they’d played rummy, she’d revealed that card games were a sore spot. He’d beaten her handily, and her exact words to him had been: “ _My toxic trait is that I vehemently hate losing at card games._ ”

Like clockwork, on their second round, her competitive side reared its adorable head.

“Now hang on just a second!” Y/N called, leaning over the table. Lee slid her a card from the top of the deck. She smacked her hand down on the table and rolled her eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, point of order.”

Everyone, even Rose, burst into laughter as Y/N looked incredulously at Lee. She jabbed her finger at the card pile. “I just played that _same thing_ two turns ago and got all my cards back.”

“No—”

“Yes!” She was almost screeching. “I played two cards of the same suit that were in ascending order, and you made me take them back and gave me a card.” Y/N lightly smacked the back of her hand against Spencer’s arm and gestured toward Lee with her other hand. “Eidetic memory, help me out here. What good is it if you’re not going to use it to help me at cards?”

He stifled a laugh he knew she wouldn’t appreciate and didn’t bother reminding her that wasn’t how his memory worked. “She did play the 8 and 9 of spades.”

“See!” She looked at Spencer and furrowed her brow. “What is that face? Why are you making that face?”

“He…” Spencer rubbed his hand across his brow, stepping over his next words like hot coals. “He was— still right to give you the cards back though.”

“Ha!” Lee cackled.

“But— what— how— how have you _already_ figured out the rules?” She held her hand up. “You know what, don’t answer that. I hate this game. So much.”

On Y/N’s next turn, as she went to lay her card down, Spencer hummed. She stopped her play and looked at him. “Mmm?”

“Mm-mm,” Spencer hummed, drawing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head.

“Point of order,” Lee called. He pointed at Spencer. “I’ma let it slide this time, because I wasn’t clear at the beginning. But no talking means no sounds.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Y/N pleaded.

“Sorry sis, the good doctor is not allowed to help you. End of point of order.”

Spencer shrugged apologetically at her, and she dropped her head onto his shoulder, sighing dramatically. He hid his smile in her hair. Rose caught his gaze and winked. He felt warm all over, and not from the furnace or the wine.

They played four more rounds before exhaustion started to set in. Spencer was stifling a yawn when Rose piped up, “Um, what’s it— uno!”

They all stared for a second as she frantically waved her final card around in the air. And then the entire table devolved into peals of laughter, gasping for breath and laughing so hard that no sound came out at all. It wasn’t even all that funny, but they were so full of wine and beer and comfort that once they started they couldn’t stop.

“Oh lord, I just peed a little,” Rose squeaked, clapping a hand over her mouth right after.

Lee just about fell out of his chair. Bailey dropped her head straight to the table. Jenny covered her face with her hands. Travis covered his cackle with his ball cap. Spencer’s whole body shook with silent laughter as Y/N buried her shriek into his shoulder.

There was no telling how long it took them to get a hold of themselves, phones and watches long forgotten. Their laughing fits had worn them all out, so much so that Bailey nearly fell asleep where she’d laid her head on the table. Lee shook her and she gave him an annoyed groan in return.

“Welp,” he sighed. “The Grand Master needs to take the mistress to bed.”

A murmur of agreement moved around the table, and they all retreated upstairs to their rooms. It was Y/N’s turn to flop onto the bed and make grabby arms, tipsy and more than a little clingy.

Spencer shifted her around to get her under the covers, recalling Travis’ warning about the furnace, and then he climbed in next to her. He put an arm around her, and she snuggled into his chest and sighed.

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” Y/N whispered.

Spencer pulled her a little closer. “I do. I love you, too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Did you know that?”

Y/N was quiet for a full minute, and he felt his t-shirt getting damp. “No, I didn’t know that.” She sniffed and he stroked over her hair. “Thank you. For loving me at all.”

His hand stilled on her hair. He knew there was something more on her mind, but he decided to leave it, wanting to save it for a sober night. Instead, he wrapped his other arm around her and tried to soothe her to the rhythm of his breath.“You make it easy, Y/N. In a world that can be so unnecessarily complicated, loving you is the simplest thing.”

He held her until her breathing evened out, and then he held her some more.

…

The house began stirring late in the morning, everyone more than a little hung over. When they made it downstairs, Hank was already out working, taking advantage of their sorry states. The remaining seven shuffled around each other in the kitchen, making coffee and eggs and bacon and toast. They ate around the dining room table in relative silence.

“I’m never drinking again,” Bailey groaned, nose buried in her coffee cup.

“We say that every year and then get hammered at Christmas.” Travis ran a hand through his hair.

Soft hums of agreement came from around the table. Lee leaned back in his chair, coffee cup cradled in his hands. “We gonna see you at Christmas, Spencer?”

Spencer pushed his glasses up his nose. “Um, as long as we don’t have a case, yeah. I’d love to be here.” He smiled at Y/N, and she patted his knee.

“Good,” he nodded. “Make sure you’ve got a karaoke song prepared. Y/L/N Christmas Karaoke is the highlight of Christmas Eve.”

Y/N smiled. “We’ll work on it. I’ve got a few good tunes in mind.” Y/N stood with her empty plate. “We’re gonna go for a walk. Spencer’s gotta meet the cows.”

“Opal’s in the outfield on Black Hill,” Rose told her.

“Opal?” Spencer asked.

Y/N hummed, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. “You’ll see.”

…

They walked hand in hand down the side of the dirt road, raising a hand in greeting to all the passing trucks. Y/N pointed out different houses and barns, told him which fields were wheat and which were soybeans, and recounted childhood memories.

About a half a mile down the road, Y/N pulled Spencer toward a red metal fence that broke up the seemingly endless wire fencing on either side of it. She climbed up and balanced with her feet on the third rung, bringing her fingers to her mouth and whistling.

Spencer stood next to her, forearms resting on the top of the fence. In the distance, he could just make out the form of a cow coming over the top of the hill.

“She’s moving a little slower these days. That’s what happens when you’re a 15 year old cow.” Y/N whistled again and then climbed up over the fence. She turned and looked at him. “Do you wanna stay on that side or come over?”

He hesitated. “Um, can I stay over here for now?”

“Of course.” She smiled and gave him a quick peck.

He watched as the cow approached, gesturing to redirect Y/N’s attention. She put her hands on her hips. “There she is! How ya been, old girl?” As the cow got closer, she increased her speed to a trot, and Spencer was momentarily concerned that she was going to plow Y/N into the fence.

That didn’t happen; instead, she slowed to a stop in front of Y/N and nuzzled into her outstretched hand. “I know,” she murmured. “It’s been too long, huh? I’m sorry.” Y/N ran her hands along the cow’s neck, turning to look at Spencer. “[ _This_ is Opal](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fthumbs.dreamstime.com%2Fb%2Fbrown-cow-12975782.jpg&t=NzZlODI1YmE5M2UyNGExMTY0MGY4ZjNjZTQ2NTU4OGUxNDA5ZjA4MywzOEljRDVvMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Ay7fLx4GMLfydPRTa3SOKWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhomoose.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F635821684162789377%2Flighthouse&m=1&ts=1607496248).”

“Hi, Opal.” Spencer waved at her, and Y/N grinned.

“When we were kids, we were in 4H. It’s sort of like—”

“America’s largest youth development organization, serving about six million kids per year.” He leaned a little further over the fence. “Their original motto was ‘head, heart, hands, and health,’ hence the name 4H.”

Y/N smiled at him. “Mhmm. Part of that was showing animals at the county fair. When I was 16, me and Opal won best in show. Huh, girl?” She punctuated her sentence with a few loving pats to Opal’s side. “My dad’s always raised beef cows, which, of course, means he sells them when they’re full grown. But— I wouldn’t let him sell Opal.” She hugged Opal’s neck and then turned to Spencer. “I mean, look at her. She’s the best.” She cocked her head. “Do you want to pet her? She _loves_ to be pet.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I— I really, really do.” He carefully climbed up over the fence, coming to stand a couple feet away. “How should I…?”

“There’s really no wrong way to do it,” Y/N assured him. “But if you put your hand out like this,” she demonstrated holding her hand out flat, “then she can come to you and initiate.”

Spencer did as she said, and Y/N stepped away from Opal and took a step closer to him, redirecting the cow’s attention. Opal saw him and took a slow step toward him, stretching her nose out towards him and giving him a few deep sniffs. She lowered her head and pushed it into his hand.

Y/N laughed. “That’s Opal speak for ‘give me scratches.’ She loves scratches.”

“You and I have that in common, Opal.” Spencer scratched the top of her head and she nuzzled back. He couldn’t help but grin, excited eyes meeting Y/N’s. “This is amazing. Everything I thought it would be.”

He brought up his other hand to rub Opal’s neck. “Did you know that cows have considerably advanced cognitive abilities? Animal behaviorists have determined that they understand cause and effect relationships and interact in socially complex ways. They even develop friendships and hold grudges.”

“I think Opal is a pretty strong example of all those things,” Y/N said, coming up on her other side. “We’ve been friends for a long, long time. And I like to think she recognizes me.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Spencer remarked. “Cows have incredible memories, and they can recognize faces— both bovine and human.”

“You’d make a good cowboy,” Y/N remarked, smiling softly at him. “That still something you want to do?”

He’d almost forgotten he told her that. He thought about it, rubbing over Opal’s back. “I don’t know. It was just a dream, you know?”

Y/N hummed. “And it can stay a dream. But it doesn’t have to.” She shrugged. “Just something to think about.”

They spent over an hour walking through the field with Opal. Spencer met some more cows, learned to keep his eyes on the ground to dodge cow pies, and couldn’t keep his hand from coming back to find Y/N’s.

When they finally made their way back to the fence, Y/N stopped them. “Okay, we need to get a picture of you and Opal.” She pulled out her phone, swiping open the camera.

Spencer scratched behind Opal’s ears, smiling as she pushed up into his hands. “You’re a good girl, Opal,” he murmured. “Such a nice cow.” He slung an arm over her and smiled at Y/N— a smile so big his cheeks hurt from the action of it.

Y/N grinned at her phone. “Oh my god, I’ve definitely found my new lock screen.” She held the picture up for both Spencer and Opal to see. Then she rubbed her hand over Opal’s face. “All right, girl. We’re gonna go. We’ll see you soon.”

Spencer hugged Opal’s neck and gave her a pat on the side. “See you later, Opal.”

He followed Y/N back over the fence, and they started back up the road. Opal turned and walked alongside them for about a hundred yards before turning into the pasture and back up the hill.

“The grass is better up on the hill,” Y/N laughed. “Something else we’ve got in common with Opal— the love of food.”

Spencer smiled and caught her hand in his, swinging it lightly between them. “I’m really glad I came this weekend.”

She squeezed his hand. “Me, too.” She pursed her lips. “I would imagine the shop talk is coming sometime today.”

Spencer’s hand immediately started sweating. “I completely forgot about that.”

“Just— let him say whatever he’s going to say.” Y/N stopped and pulled Spencer to face her. “He is very aware of how I feel about you. I’d guess he’s just going to— try to impart some wisdom or pull the ‘don’t break my baby’s heart’ thing.” She smiled and shrugged. “Either way, it’ll be all right, as long as you just— let him get it out.

…

Sure enough, upon their return to the house, Hank was finishing up a sandwich at the kitchen counter. “I gotta head over to the shop,” Hank said. “Spencer. Walk with me.”

Hank threw his paper towel in the trash and gave Rose a kiss on the cheek. She gave him a pointed look, and Y/N gave Spencer a subtle thumbs up.

Spencer followed Hank out the sliding glass door, returning Travis and Lee’s sympathetic waves from their seats at the porch table. Hank crunched across the leaves scattered across the back lawn, approaching a large barn at the back of the yard. He used his body weight to open the massive metal sliding door to the shop, gesturing Spencer inside.

Spencer had barely stepped through the door when Hank remarked, “You strike me as a man who’s been through some things.”

He appreciated Hank’s decision to get right to the point, killing any anticipation. He thought about his own father, Tobias Hankel, dilaudid, his mother’s illness, prison, the daily emotional trauma that his job inflicted, the subterranean darkness in him that would probably never fully be light again.

“It’s in the eyes,” Hank continued.

Spencer cursed his dark circles. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

“You’ve got storms in them,” he noted. “Nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all got them. Some more than others.”

Spencer swallowed, wondering where this conversation was going. He supposed this was the wisdom portion of the shop talk. Hank’s eyes bore into Spencer’s as if he was trying to decipher them, and he’d never felt more scrutinized in his entire life.

“Y/N’s made it clear to me that she loves you. So I’ma make something clear to you.” Hank let his words hang in the air, and Spencer fought the urge to wither under his gaze.

“Love is helping someone else navigate their storms. It’s being their lighthouse in the dark. Their compass when they’ve lost their way. Their rudder in rough waters. Knowing who she is, I’m sure she does that for you.”

Spencer nodded, and Hank ran a hand over his face. “My daughter has her own storms, ones you might not even know about yet. I know she spends a lot of time convincing everybody she’s in perpetual sunshine, but… sometimes she needs a lighthouse, too.” He paused, and Spencer didn’t dare breathe. “Are you a lighthouse, Spencer?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Hank crossed his arms. “Now I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but Y/N don’t need a brute of a man to take care of her, or explain the world to her, or tell her what to do.” He raised his chin just slightly, an indicator of his pride and love for his daughter. “She needs someone who listens to her, who tries his best to be a good person, who sees her as an equal and a partner. Can you do that?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Hank pointed at the faded photos on the wall, ones of all his children and his wife. “Because we don’t have favorites, but that’s my baby. And she deserves respect, and honesty, and communication from the person she loves. Do you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. As long as you do, we’ll get along just fine.” Hank put a hand on his hip, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “Now, Y/N tells me you know a lot about engines.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “Well, I— I know about them in—in theory,” Spencer offered, startled by the change in conversation.

“Well maybe your theory can help me figure out what in the hell is going on with this goddamn piece of junk,” he said, gesturing to a mess of parts on the shop bench. He nodded at Spencer in his cardigan. “If that’s a good shirt, you might wanna roll up your sleeves.”

…

An hour and a half later, they made their way back to the house. The porch door slid open, and five bodies scattered from where they had very clearly been snooping. Y/N was the only one sitting at the kitchen island. She looked up at the two most important men in her life, uncertainty in her eyes.

“Spencer just fixed the engine on the 3025,” Hank said, still slightly incredulous.

“The John Deere?” Lee asked.

“That’d be the one,” Hank confirmed. “I’m about ready to hire him.” He clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and met his eyes. “That thing’s been giving me hell for damn near a year.”

“Well, I didn’t fix it,” Spencer clarified, glancing around at the eyes watching him. “Hank did the work, I just— directed a little bit.”

Hank dropped his hand. “Well, I might be calling you up on that dinosaur phone for more direction in the future.” He moved to lean against the counter. “Did y’all order the pizza yet?”

“Naw, we were waiting to see if both of y’all were gonna make it back from the shop,” Travis grinned. “Now that we know everyone’s alive and well—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank evaded. “I’m gonna change outta these clothes before I get in trouble tracking oil everywhere.”

“You’re a smart man after all,” Rose remarked.

“I’ll call the order in,” Bailey offered, pulling out her phone.

Spencer watched Y/N’s chin sink into her hand, her relief palpable. He moved to sit next to her at the island.

“I thought you weren’t worried,” he teased.

“I wasn’t! And then y’all didn’t come back to the house,” she laughed. She bumped his shoulder and met his eyes. “You all good?”

Spencer smiled so wide his eyes squinted. “All good.”

…

They ate pizza and told stories and laughed and played games until well into the evening. Rose was the first to turn in for bed.

“We’re running the booth up at the farmers’ market tomorrow if any of y’all are up,” she offered. “We’re leaving at 8:00 on the dot.”

“I think I’m gonna try to get some huntin’ in before we head back,” Travis said.

Lee leaned back on the couch. “I will not be doing either of those things. I’ma be sleeping.”

“We’ll see what the morning brings,” Y/N said, shrugging.

Rose and Hank headed off to bed, and the rest of the crew made their way upstairs shortly after, hunkering down and preparing for the inevitable drop in temperature.

“So,” Y/N started, snuggling in close to Spencer’s side, “I’ll accept your admission that you were wrong at any time now.”

He laughed. “Oh? In regards to what?”

“Everybody loving you.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m not sure how it’s possible, but you were right.”

She cackled. “Wow, I know you’re the genius, but I know some things, too.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just— I know I can— I know I can be a lot.” He’d been awkward and rambling, and he’d even _cried_ for goodness sake. He was used to being a source of exasperation for even his closest friends. In comparison, the nonchalance that Y/N’s family had shown toward his quirks felt a lot like love.

She propped her chin on his chest to look at him. “I don’t know who these people are that have you convinced that you’re ‘a lot’ to handle.” She brought her free hand up to tuck a rogue curl back into place. “You are the absolute perfect amount.”

At his tentative smile, she continued, “I will literally fight anyone who tries to imply otherwise.” He laughed, pulling a grin from her. “I might not look it, but I’m scrappy as hell.”

“I appreciate your willingness to defend my honor.”

“Anytime.” She leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Oh, and we are absolutely not getting up at 8:00am. You can see the farmers’ market next time.”

She burrowed back down under the quilt, falling quickly into sleep and leaving him to savor the idea of _next time_.

…

On Saturday morning, Spencer carried a ball of bed sheets into the laundry room, doing his best to look inconspicuous as he passed through the kitchen. Lee followed him with his eyes, pouring a little too much syrup over the pancakes in front of him.

“Have a little pancake with your syrup, why don’t you?” Y/N teased, entering the kitchen a few steps behind Spencer.

Lee stopped his syrup pour, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Since when have you ever washed the guest room sheets?”

“I’m not washing the guest room sheets,” she clarified. “Spencer is.” She grabbed a pancake and dropped it onto the plate Bailey had laid out, shrugging as casually as possible.

Lee narrowed his eyes. “When I knocked this morning…”

Y/N turned her head away and scratched the back of her neck, avoiding his eyes. Spencer returned from the laundry room, looking sheepish.

“Oh, no way. No no no no no no no,” Lee shook his hands and covered his ears. “This is _not_ happening.”

Y/N’s face was redder than the label of the Mrs. Butterworth’s in front of them, but she rolled her eyes. “Let me remind you that we both lived under this roof for 18 years and y’all,” she gestured between him and Bailey, “were horny teenagers for a solid three of them.”

Bailey covered her face. “I thought we were so sneaky.”

Y/N barked out a laugh. “Oh, well let me confirm that you were, in fact, the opposite of sneaky.” She flicked open the cap of the syrup. “And _that_ is the end of this conversation.”

…

Around noon, everyone was back at the house and Spencer and Y/N had everything packed back into her car, ready to start the drive back to DC. The eight of them stood in the gravel driveway, laughing and carrying on for close to half an hour.

“All right, we really gotta head out,” Y/N sighed. “I’ve got all my lesson planning to do.”

“Did you get the jars of jam and—”

“ _Yes_ , mama. Got enough to last until next Thanksgiving,” she said, pulling Rose into a hug. “I love you.”

Lee clapped his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Maybe you can convince her to come to Raleigh and learn the rules of Five Card Mao.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Spencer promised.

Rose gave him a tentative smile, fingers wiggling, and he returned it, leaning down and into her arms. She rocked him back and forth with a contented little hum. She whispered a little _love ya, sugar_ — just loud enough for him to hear, and he tucked his chin into her shoulder. She gave him one last squeeze before pulling out of the hug and gently tapping his cheek with a warm hand.

Hank stood with his hands in pockets. “I’m not much for texting— still can’t figure out that T19—”

“T9,” Lee corrected with a playful eye roll.

Hank waved an absentminded hand at him. “But the next time I need an expert opinion on a machine, I’ll be callin’ you.”

Spencer met his eyes and nodded. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Y/N hugged the rest of them, lingering on Jenny and giving her a knowing once over that no one else caught other than Spencer. Then she turned to him and tossed him her keys. She opened the passenger side door. “All right, y’all. We’ll see you in a month.”

Spencer gave them all a wave before moving to climb into the driver’s seat. She turned and grinned at him as he turned the engine over. “You got me all wore out this morning. I need a nap.”

Spencer scoffed. “Excuse me. That was _all_ you.”

Y/N hummed, propping her legs up on the dash and getting as comfortable as she could in the small car. She closed her eyes with a smirk. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

He thought about _my daughter’s got storms you don’t know about_ and _she’s a good one_ and _thanks for loving me at all_ and _are you a lighthouse, Spencer_.

“No,” he agreed. “No complaints here.”


End file.
